Our Wings Are Burning
by Adair In Wonderland
Summary: All is lost but hope. Raphael/Michael. Songfic.


Disclaimer: I do not own Angel Sanctuary or Virgin Black's song in any way, shape or form.

Warning: Implied sex, the f-bomb, boy on boy lovin', and some serious angst.

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**Our Wings Are Burning**

_We fell in love, with dust in our lids  
And the pain of a severed soul_

I didn't want it. I wanted to kill whatever force kept drawing me back to that disgrace again and again. He sickens me. He spits all over the rules of God, _our father_; and turns me into an eager cur, awaiting any word or glance of praise. I didn't want him. I didn't want sin.

But then he came, shining white, and pulled me out of the fire I created. With ease - his touch felt like a cool autumn breeze - he healed the burns and soothed the shame and rage. He saw through the violence and blood and held me like the child I appeared to be, whispering worthless words of solace as I sobbed.

And I hated him for it, hated the effortlessness with which he erased my deepest scars. He knew nothing of pain, knew nothing of the dark eyes that haunted me in my sleep and followed me in my waking hours. He didn't see my brother's face as I cut him down.

In my anger and denial, I continued to seek the cure he offered, to prod at the still body of sin.

_We lowered our heads and lifted our face  
Placed our bodies in celebration  
Poured the ointment of grief  
On the lips of a mutilated man  
I carry the bones of a deformed child_

We would meet in secret, the only time at which the curses that flowed so easily from my mouth would cease. His eyes would shine with lust, while his face still maintained that perpetual carefree expression - a paradox that constantly tormented me and my resolute devotion. How could he? How _could _he?

Blond hair tickled my flesh as his lips trailed patterns over my tanned skin, drawing marks of the devil that seemed to sink beneath the tissue, only to later rise up and sear me in solitude. It was the simplest thing to give in to him, to fold under all my ideals. How could it be so easy to forget?

When he was inside me, pouring fire into my veins, he would breathe my name over and over again, effectively crumbling my previously iron will into dust. He was the only one able to turn the Angel of Light into a sniveling, whimpering mess. What armies of demons had never been able to accomplish took only a gentle caress from a lecher.

"You're really turning into something beautiful, Mika." He chuckled as he pulled out. He would always rattle off some ridiculous sweet nothings afterwards, treating me like one of his sluts; treating me like a woman or a child, as though I needed soothing. Nothing he ever said could wipe this filth off, could make me believe that I hadn't committed a crime as grievous as my twin.

"I'm not one of your fuckin' whores."

_And with my own polluted breath  
I speak the old man's words  
In a persuasive eloquence  
Bless the dust that hides  
This unlamented head_

On the battlefield, things are much clearer. There is no hidden agony. All pain is corporeal and therefore trivial and forgettable. As the armies of Hell charge toward me, I raise my sword, calling on Father to give me the strength I need to do his work. The hypocrisy is a dead weight that pulls me down into the dirt.

Raphael. It's his blood that I should be spilling. He was the one to offer me the apple, and I was fool enough to take it. It's my blood I should be spilling. It is my duty to eliminate all wickedness from this universe, to bring God's vision to reality.

And Raphael. How can you be my saviour and destroyer all at once? How can you be the greatest healer and the Chief of the Virtues, and be able to revel in immorality, sink yourself so deep in sin? The purity of angels is dying and you are smiling with pride.

_On the crest of fire, our wings are burning  
How glorious the pain  
And the ways of God, shriek out of tune  
All is lost but hope_

You call and I come. What is left? Your fingers trace the dragon on my face, as you coo something meaningless about fire and passion. Words of love are tickling against my ear.

"Raphael..." It was a mistake. Your eyes alight as though you have been given the greatest treasure in heaven. Your arms are wrapping, pulling me up into your embrace. "Raphael..." Only here, there are no dark eyes watching me, no doctrines roaring. Another smile tugs at your lips at the passing of your name through mine. Through three softly spoken syllables, it seems as though I have acknowledged everything.

Father... It's true. He's left us, hasn't He? We are alone. We were told not to love, to push it all down for the one who abandoned us in the end. What we needed the most, we were told was evil. "Raphael..."

I let the wind take me where it may. Only this gentle hurricane can pull me out of the flames back into whatever is left. With this new-found passion, devotion, adoration, we may resurrect what had fallen so long ago. And though our wings are burning, we are still able to fly.

_On the crest of fire  
Our wings are burning  
To the wind's anthem  
All is lost but hope_

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Hey, thanks for reading this. If anyone wants to know (in case you couldn't figure it out on your own) the song I used is called "Our Wings Are Burning" by Virgin Black. They are a phenomenal band. If you're into metal at all, or just heartbreakingly beautiful music, then I suggest you check them out. About the story, it's been forever since I've read Angel Sanctuary, so things could be totally off. I'm sure Michael is totally out of character, but that's how it goes sometimes.

Anyway, please please review! It will be much appreciated. Feel free to criticize my writing, as long as it is somewhat constructive.


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